


Fire Under Our Skin

by LWTIS



Series: SP K2 Week [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Sort Of, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, deep conversations about fate and self reflection at 3am, sp k2 week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 23:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15448461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWTIS/pseuds/LWTIS
Summary: “What do you think of soulmarks, Kyle?”Crimson eyebrows arched with surprise before dipping, drawn into an unnecessarily deep scowl.“I hate them.”Written for the SP K2 Week. //Day 3 - Sleepover.//





	Fire Under Our Skin

They're changing for gym class when Kenny first notices it.

“Did you hurt your ankle, dude?”

Despite the near-whisper volume of the question, Kyle flinches. His eyes dart around, lightning fast, before returning to the now-concerned blonde.

“Yeah. Basketball got intense.”

Kenny winces, memories of the coach and his preferences for drills assaulting his senses. “Ouch. You sure you should be playing then?”

Kyle doesn’t respond immediately, busy with his shoelaces. When he straightens up, his smile is apologetic.

“It's fine. All wrapped up and secure.”

With his socks tugged high and bandage over his ankle out of sight, he seems much less jumpy already. With a shrug, Kenny lets the topic gracefully drop.

“If you say so.”

\---

Kyle seems to injure his ankle on a regular basis these days. Whenever he looks - and he can't _help_ but look, after that - there is always a bandage, a brace, a ridiculously big band-aid. The long sports socks become a familiar sight.  
The strange thing is, with his ankles covered, he wouldn't be able to tell. Kyle's walk remains the same, strides long and steady, and when the situation calls for it, he runs with the fury of ten soccer moms.  
Odd. Definitely odd.

\---

He doesn’t _mean_ to fixate on it. His traitorous brain, on the other hand, seems to latch onto the possibilities every chance it gets.  
The skin under his ribs itches every time.

\---

It’s on his rare free Saturday that he gets woken up by insistent pokes to his shoulder and a frantic whisper of his name. A few seconds of groggy blinking later, his vision is filled with messy brown hair and elated blue eyes.

“Kenny! _Kenny! It appeared!!_ ”

Eyes snapping open, he scrambles to sit up and make space for her on the lumpy mattress, fatigue forgotten. “Really?!”

Karen nods, practically vibrating with excitement. She grabs the hem of her shirt, lifting it just high enough to reveal the pale skin of her waist -  
And the brand new soul mark decorating it.  
It’s in the same place as his, Kenny notes, affection surging through him. On her left side, over the lower ribs. It’s a flower - one whose name escapes him. The stalk is long, holding dozens of flowers in tight harmony. The frilly edges of the petals are splashed with bright, deep blue.      
It’s absolutely stunning.

“Wow.” he breathes, grin widening to mirror Karen’s. “Look at _that!_ ”

“I know! I’ve never seen this kind of flower before!” she says, craning her neck to get a better look. Kenny, ever the _greatest_ big brother, takes the opportunity to tickle her exposed side mercilessly before rolling them both off the bed.  

“To the library then! Get your shoes."

\---

The internet tells them the flower is called Delphinium. They come in an unnecessarily large range of colours, and they represent courage, boldness and protection. (Kenny can't help the giggle that slips free. Trust those preferences to run in the family.)  
Karen's excitement only becomes more tangible as they continue their research, eyes sparkling at each additional symbolism uncovered.  
It's adorable and highly suspicious.  
He doesn't want to dampen her mood with interrogations, though. So he keeps quiet as they keep reading and copying, printing out a neat compilation at the end. She is still pouring over it as they step out of the building. Skilfully, he slips an arm into the crook of her elbow, guiding her in the right direction.

“Satisfied?”

“Very.”

\---

The next morning, Tricia Tucker is  standing outside their house.  
Kenny blinks. Rubs his eyes. Squints.  
Tricia Tucker continues to stand outside their house, bobbing her head to the beat of her music. She’s taller than he remembers, strawberry blonde hair long enough to twist into messy buns on the top of her head.  
And curled around her neck, like a choker of twisting ink, is an elegant ring of flowers.  
Unlike Karen's, her soul mark only boasts splashes of colour, soft streaks of yellow and orange accents along the petals.  
It’s soft, delicate and somehow - framed by worn combat boots, old aviator jacket and the patented Tucker Resting Bitchface - it fits her perfectly.

Behind him, a scrape of chairs and hurried footsteps announce the impending arrival (and departure) of his dear little sister.

“Bye Mom!” she calls over her shoulder, wriggling her arm into the sleeve of her cardigan. There’s a brightly coloured ribbon in her hair.

“Tricia Tucker is standing outside our house.” Kenny remarks, voice even.

“We’re going to hang out today!” she offers, voice bright as she tugs her shoes on and practically runs out of the door with a hasty goodbye.

Adorable.  
Highly, highly suspicious.

\---

The yellow-tinted flowers, as he later finds out, are called frangipani.  
(He would honestly like an audience with the person who named all these flowers. As much as he appreciates things being _extra_ , this is too much.) They represent resilience - strength to overcome tough challenges. They also signify protection, resurrection. Devotion between individuals that transcends lifetimes.  
Thumb frozen over scratched glass, Kenny stares at the screen until the words blur together.  
Heat pulses under the mark over his ribs, slow and barely-there.

\---

There is no tangible explanation for soul marks, scientific or magical.

Thousands of theories exist, of course - an ever-popular topic in the scientific and religious community. Some claim it a biological phenomenon, whilst others insist it’s a gift from a deity, the Creator’s gift to guide humanity on a path of happiness and fulfilment.  
(There are, of course, those who claim the soul marks to be the work of the Devil, designed to shame and expose the desires of the individual to the world. However, they were few and far between, and tended to smell and  dress extremely badly.)

Whatever the reason was, the facts remained the same. Typically, soul marks manifested between the early years of  puberty and late twenties. Each individual’s was unique - in style, in size, in placement. The one common feature they all shared is that they were a symbol of one’s soulmate - a visual summary, the essence of their being.

It was the dream of poets, and a nightmare for the impatient.

\---

“Why does it have to be so complicated?!” Clyde complains one Wednesday afternoon, frustrated and loud enough for the whole corridor to hear. “Why can’t it just be a name? Initials? The first phrase they speak to you? Nice and _straightforward?_ ”

“Many, many people have the same name, dumbass.” Craig’s voice is quick to reply, with the tone of someone who has had this particular conversation about four dozen times already. “If you had ‘John Smith’ written on your arm, you would be none the fucking wiser.”

“It’d be more of a _start_! Anything has to be better than advanced pictionary with no clues!”

The taller boy just rolls his eyes. Clyde takes his silence as a sign of victory.  
(Kenny knows better. He has seen the way the elder Tucker looks at the dark lines on his wrist - a comet, he thinks, enclosed in a glass jar. The whole design is littered with tiny stars, easily mistaken for ink stains. It's all terribly romantic, and he knows Craig loves it.)

\---

There’s some truth to Clyde’s frustrations. In some cases, it's all quite straightforward. Gemstones. Flowers with specific meanings.  
Other cases were a little bit more complicated.

\---

“Why the long face, Leo?”

The boy in question whips his head up, distress easing in favour of a greeting smile.

“Well see, Kenny, the thing is - I got my soulmark last night. Woke up and there it was!” With careful movements, he tugs at his sleeve until the inside of his left elbow is exposed - and along with it, the outline of a dog, drawn with sweet, simple lines.  
And he kind of hates himself for it, he really does, but the first thought that flashes through his mind is -  
_Holy shit, Butters’ soulmate is a furry._

“Congrats!” he says aloud, grin successfully sincere. “What a cute puppy!”

Butters nods, expression stuttering back to mournful. “....I'm allergic to puppies.”

 _Ouch_.

“Well they're not supposed to be _literal_ , Leo.” he tries, gently bumping his hip against the other’s. “Dogs could mean a lot of things! Someone who is loyal, friendly, very affectionate…”  
_A furry._

Oblivious to his internal conflict, Butters’ expression slowly lights up, eyes glittering with hope.

“You really think so, Kenny?”

“Sure, buddy. Just...keep an open mind about it, yeah?”

\---

Kenny’s soulmark manifested a few days after his thirteenth birthday.

He still remembers the perfect awe that filled him the first time he caught sight of it in the mirror.  
Crimson. Orange. Sharp, vibrant colours entwined together to form flames, licking across his ribs and down to his waist. With each breath he took, the design moved with his skin. If he squinted, he could swear the flames were flickering.

\---

The topic came up exactly once.

They were sitting at the bus stop, elbows resting on backpacks, fingers sticky with the remains of ice cream purchased on a whim. Kyle’s phone was balanced on his knee, screen still lit up with messages from Stan.  
Searching for any signs of the approaching bus, Kenny turned his head just in time to witness Kyle sliding his fingers between his lips. With distracted green eyes still fixed on his screen, he hurriedly sucked them clean.    
Distantly, he thinks he swallows, throat dry. His late-night conversation with Bebe flashes through his mind, her advice echoing in his ear.

“What do you think of soulmarks, Kyle?”

Crimson eyebrows arched with surprise before dipping, drawn into an unnecessarily deep scowl.

“I hate them.”

Kenny didn’t feel any particular motivation to continue the discussion after that.

\---

His mother had smiled when he showed her, tired eyes knowing and affectionate.

“I’m not surprised.” she had told him, reaching to smooth his hair down out of habit. “Even when yous was little, you were always taken in by a pretty face and a spitfire soul.”

\---

Naturally, the sky opens up the minute he gets up to leave.  
Thunder crackles across the sky, briefly interrupting the loud howling of the wind. The raindrops slam into the concrete with needle-like precision, icy and sharp. Kyle’s expression is wary when their eyes meet. Kenny hopes his responding smile is reassuring.

“I’ll be okay - it’s only across the tracks. I can run.” In his ratty trainers that were more duct tape than fabric at this point. The real point of concern for him were his notebooks - full of details on the group project they had spent the evening on, and very, very prone to soaking in the rain.  

“Don’t be silly, Kenny!” Sheila’s voice interrupts, tone bearing no argument. “You don’t even have your coat! You’ll be soaked to the bone by the time you get home! You stay right here - I’ll get the futon set up.”  

And this is how he ends up in Kyle’s room, clad in a borrowed hoodie and a well-worn pair of sweatpants that leave his ankles on show.  
It’s a little surreal, in all honesty. He can’t recall the last time he slept over in Kyle’s room - but all the little details are comfortingly familiar.

Without warning, heat flares up under his skin, prompting a sharp hiss of surprise as his body dips forwards.

“Are you okay?”

When he glances over his shoulder, Kyle’s lips are pressed into a tight, anxious line. Quickly, he nods.  

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

The words do little to reassure his friend. Kenny figures a little honesty cannot hurt.

“It’s just my soulmark.” he admits. With some effort, he relaxes the arm that curled around his ribs when the sensations hit. “It gets a little itchy sometimes.”

Green eyes widen before narrowing, the scowl returning with vengeance..

“...it hurts you?”

“It’s not strong enough to hurt me, usually.” the blonde replies, a little taken aback. The memory of the bus stop flashes through his brain. “...you _really_ hate the whole soulmark shebang, don’t you.”

His tone is light, gently teasing in hopes of lightening the mood. Kyle’s expression just darkens further.

“How could you not?” he mutters, tugging the blanket to the side almost aggressively. “It’s an infuriating concept, and on top of that, everyone’s breaking their necks to make a business out of it. It’s so _annoying_.”  

Kenny doesn’t know what sort of answer he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“...why is it an infuriating concept?”

The blankets shift again as Kyle sits up, expression determined.

“Don’t you think it’s irritating? The notion that there’s some predetermined force that just - tells you what sort of person would suit you the best?” His voice has dropped to a loud whisper, suddenly conscious of the rest of the household. “Most people are barely teenagers when they get their soulmarks - that’s before you even get the chance to...to travel, to work, to date, to _do_ anything! How the hell would someone else know what you like, what you _need_ even before yourself?”

He pauses to take a breath. Kenny watches his chest rise and fall, unable to tear his eyes away.

“That, and just...it’s so...final.” His eyes burn with something distinctively bitter - and underneath it, fear. “There’s no room to fuck it up when your _soulmate_ is on the line, is there? And all you have to go on is one fucking picture.”

There...was a lot to unpack there.  
He runs his tongue over suddenly-dry lips, shifting closer to the edge of the futon.

“Marks or no marks, it’s not like you have to bind yourself to the first person you develop feelings for.” he says carefully. “The marks are supposed to be helpful - like a guide, I guess. You’re allowed to make mistakes, Ky.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, judging by the sharp twist of Kyle’s lips, coupled with the stiffening of his shoulders.

“Not with this.” he mutters. Kenny guesses he meant to sound sullen, but his voice betrays him, coming out melancholy instead. Vulnerable. “This is too important.”

If there was ever a time to climb into his friend’s bed and pull him into an impromptu embrace, this was definitely it.  
A soft squeak of surprise is muffled into his shoulder, the muscles along his back stiff against his touch. But soon enough, he feels the redhead relax into him.

“I am not a big fan of the whole ‘there is one perfect person who completes you in every single way’ theory either.” Kenny murmurs after a pause. He dutifully keeps his hands between Kyle’s shoulder blades.  “But because of that, I actually really like the whole...vagueness. It leaves it so open to interpretation. There’s no names, no gender markers...not even an indication of how many soul mates you have out there.”

“...I didn’t consider that.” Kyle admits. His breath tickles against Kenny’s neck with each word.

“That and they’re usually just...really pretty.”

“...is yours...pretty?”

The question is quiet. Shy, almost.

“...very.” He closes his eyes for a second. Orange and red dance across the back of his eyelids. He can feel each of the goosebumps along his skin. “I...really like my soulmark.”

Underneath his arms, Kyle squirms. When the blonde relents, he wriggles back far enough to see his face.

Under the fabric of his hoodie, the flames across his skin  _burn_ with the intensity of an inferno.

“I don’t think it’s the end of the world if someone knows you better than yourself.” Kenny says, quickly. Too quickly. “...there’s like, loads of things that we don’t realise about ourselves ‘cuz we get…too wrapped up in shit.”

So eloquent.  
But he needed to say something - something before he does something stupid and impulsive and very much permanent.

If Kyle finds his behaviour odd, he doesn’t voice it. Teeth worry his lower lip before he shifts to kick the blankets off his legs. It takes three tugs to loosen the bandages around his ankles, and a flick of the wrist to send it tumbling off the bed.

Feathers.  
Curved around the bump of Kyle’s ankle is the base of a feathery wing, beautifully poised in mid-flight. There’s not a hint of colour, but each individual feather is breathtakingly detailed.  
Absently, Kenny is reminded to take a breath when his lungs start to burn.

“...I thought the placement was really weird.” Kyle mutters, breaking the silence. His voice is cautious. Tense. “...you’d think wings would go on your back, right? There’s way too many meanings for those. But the only thing I could find for ankle wings was just a Greek God. Hermes.”

The messenger of the gods. The one who travelled between the realm of the gods and the underworld. Heaven and Hell.  
If there was any air left in Kenny’s lungs, he’d be laughing himself stupid right now.

Kyle is still watching him. Cautiously. Tensely. He can see the red crescent shapes his nails left embedded in his palm.

“...well? Does that make sense to you in any way?”

A myriad of emotions crash through him, indistinguishable from one another. There’s disbelief, shock. Unfiltered joy. And most overwhelmingly, the desire to pull Kyle back into an embrace - one he surrenders to immediately.    
His fingers close around Kyle's wrist, tugging his hand close enough to slip under his hoodie. Despite the other's splutters, Kenny guides him insistently until his fingers splay over his ribs.    
Heat blooms over his skin instantly, soaking through the blonde right down to the center of his bones. He is unsure if this the soulmark’s doing - or it’s just the sheer exhilaration of finally - finally - having Kyle in his arms.  
Judging by the redhead’s soft gasp and the ghost sensation of nails against his skin, he guesses it’s maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, Kyle.” he breathes, helpless in his adoration.   

“You have no idea.”

\---

AN:

These prompts are all getting Out Of Hand.  
I’m lagging a little because I had a twelve hour shift yesterday but I am Determined to get these all finished!! Eventually!! (It is 3am now and I have work in 4hours help.) 

Karen's and Tricia's soulmarks were inspired by [this stunning piece of art](https://kafkaeskin.tumblr.com/post/172210888316/the-siblings-edition-i-was-actually-thinking-of) by kafkaeskin on tumblr! Detailed symbolism can be found [here](https://kafkaeskin.tumblr.com/post/172407523746/hello-you-dont-said-about-the-goths-and-the)!  
Please check out all the [ main blog for K2 Week on Tumblr ](https://k2-week.tumblr.com/) and also the [ tag! ](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/sp-k2-week) And whilst you're there, [ hit me up! ](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/):)  
Thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving kudos and wonderful comments - I appreciate them all <3


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